


blue ribbon boy

by Karentt1



Series: Needle and Thread [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, F/M, Geralt is willing to do anything to protect Jaskier, Jaskier is a theatre kid confirmed, Jaskier is really fucking pretty guys, Not Beta Read, Which may seem sweet, and i didn't have any inspiration for weeks, and wrote this in two hours, but hey, but i'd risk it all for him, but if anyone wants to be my beta....., but really isnt, but then i did today, i don't think this is as graphic, i think i might be a lesbian, not as dark as sewing skills though, some people asked for a sequel, there isn't much violence, you wanted to see the aftermath?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Jaskier loves his decorations. All his baubles, all his jewellery, all the things that make him pretty.He doesn't think this will though. And now he's trying to get away. He won't.(This is the sequel of a fic I already wrote. I don't think you have to read the first one, but if you don't you won't understand why he's running. Its recommended you do.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Needle and Thread [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813528
Comments: 23
Kudos: 97
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	blue ribbon boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, i actually wrote something again. I'm kinda glad too. I've been writing for modern family, which is kinda sad. Anyway, i hope this lives up to some of your expectations. I don't think it will, but i hope so!

Jaskiers feet pounded against the forest floor, his footsteps hitting the dirt to the beat of his own thudding heart. The thumps echoed in his ears, sending blood coursing through his veins, the oxygen spreading throughout his body, making him faster. He couldn’t afford to slow down. Not this time.

It was nighttime, but the type of night that promised bad things. Jaskier loved twilight; the stars shining above his head, the muted sounds of music and laughter, the forest filled with crickets and the crackling of the fire. Twilight was the ideal writing time, where he got most of his inspiration. It used to be his and Geralt's time, like the night was made for them in mind. Like it was created just for them and they were the only ones who got to enjoy it. 

But this twilight hid monsters in its depths, promising pain if he even missed a single step, if his ankle was hooked on hidden roots, or if a branch came out of nowhere, knocking him down. He could almost sense golden eyes, eyes that used to look like the sun to him, watching him between the trees and bushes, laughing as he tried to get away. 

He used to write love songs for Geralt. He could barely even stomach the word now. 

Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped. Jaskier startled, then ran faster. He didn’t even know he could go this fast, but desperation makes humans stronger, and he refused to stick around to see Geralt. He knew that Geralt was a trained hunter; he wouldn’t allow a single sound to escape him while stalking his prey unless he wanted his prey to know he was there. 

This is the game to him, Jaskier realised. Geralt was enjoying this. 

Damn him.

* * *

“Geralt,” Jaskier cried happily, running up to the man as he walked down the street, coming back from the armoury. He reached out his arms for a hug, then pulled away at the last second, remembering what happened the last time he tried to hug the man. His arm still hurt in the dead of night, or when it was tugged forward, and he didn’t want to go through that again. He settled for lightly punching Geralt's shoulder, confident the man wouldn’t be hurt by it, and Geralt raised his eyebrow. 

Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m excited Geralt, it’s something people with emotions feel.” 

It was a joke between them, and they both knew it. Jaskier knew that Geralt had emotions just like every other person in the world, and knew that he felt things sometimes a little more harshly than some. But they both enjoyed their little inside joke, and Geralt never took offence, so Jaskier continued, knowing that if Geralt really did disapprove, he would do something about it. 

He just hated it when people took that seriously. 

“What is it Jaskier?” Geralt said, indulging him, and Jaskier sighed happily. He grabbed Geralt's arm, and Geralt followed as Jaskier led them along the road, heading back to the inn where they were staying. 

“Today, my dear witcher, I got the most beautiful purchases,” Jaskier started, and he could almost sense Geralt roll his eyes, despite being beside him and looking straight ahead. “A new doublet, a lovely little ring, and a cinnamon cookie.”

Jaskier pushed Geralt up the stairs, his hands shaking with excitement. Geralt barely resisted, and Jaskier loved him, loved him more than the stars themselves. He used to wax endless poetics about the twinkling lights in the sky, so much his university professors banned them from his book. But now he had a new muse, and the stars were forgotten in his mind and in his pen. 

“Is that it?” Geralt said, and Jaskier could hear the teasing tone. He huffed and shut the door to their room, a small dirty area. Jaskier always hated it when innkeepers gave the worst rooms to Geralt because of his occupation, because he was a witcher, but Geralt never seemed to notice, so Jaskier didn’t say a word about it. A tremendous feat on his part, but he barely ever bragged. 

“Of course not, why did you think I did a dramatic pause?” Jaskier asked, trying not to sound so snooty. It was just like Geralt not understanding theatrics. 

“That was a dramatic pause? It was almost a minute.” 

“Well forgive me,” Jaskier cried, “if I underestimated how much you would actually say! I know you barely have a vocabulary, but I expect a little audience participation.” 

“How about this? You’re an idiot.” 

“And you’re a fucking brute who smells like onions and blue cheese. Now shut up and let me talk,” Jaskier responded, digging into his bag by his bed. Geralt rolled his eyes, but Jaskier could see his smile and he basked in it, the knowledge only he could do that, make Geralt happy. 

He pulled out his prize, then turned around, facing his friend. “Ta da,” he sang, holding out his items. Geralt squinted his eyes, then stepped closer, holding out a gloved hand expectantly. Jaskier obediently dropped them into Geralt's outstretched hand, and Geralt raised them up, looking at them carefully. 

“Ribbons?” he asked, inspecting them, and Jaskier laughed. 

“Yes, aren’t they just darling? Can you imagine me, wearing my golden outfit, that white ribbon in my hair? Or my purple coat complemented with pink bows? And of course blue to match my eyes. They’re perfect, right Geralt?” 

“They’re ribbons,” Geralt grunted, handing them back. Jaskier snatched them away with a huff, disappointed by his companion’s reaction, but not really surprised. 

“No appreciation for beauty,” he muttered, delicately placing them back in his bag. “They were expensive y’know. I paid good money for these.” 

“You should have kept it,” Geralt said, and Jaskier gasped, offended. Geralt sighed, then grabbed his sword, hefting it over his shoulder. “I’m leaving, meeting a client in a few minutes.” 

“Good luck,” Jaskier said, waving him off. He placed his attention to his new ribbons, admiring the way the silky fabric shimmered in the firelight. He could hear Geralt leave the room, his heavy boots hitting the wooden boards until he was gone. 

“Well,” Jaskier said a few hours later, watching the inn burn to the ground, the fire making his cheeks more rosy than usual. The smoke filled the air, making him cough. “There goes my hard earned money. I should have gone with you. Maybe then my bag would be saved.” 

“You mean our hard earned money?” Geralt asked, standing next to him, covered in monster guts. Jaskier wrinkled his nose; he may have been upset over the loss of his new clothes, but he was more upset over the fact that the inn that just burned down was the only one for miles. There was no place for Geralt to wash off, and Jaskier mourned both his nose and his new ribbons.

“Excuse you, who works their ass off playing in front of crowds almost every night, strumming his fingers to ribbons?” 

“Excuse you, who risks life and death killing monsters you’re too cowardly to?” 

“Touche,” Jaskier muttered, watching the inn go up in flames. Busy villagers called to their wives to hurry up with the pails of water, desperate to put out the flames. Jaskier didn’t move a muscle, his eyes glassy watching the chaos. 

“I’ll buy you new clothes,” Geralt said at last, not meeting Jaskiers eyes, almost shyly so. 

“And I thank you for that,” Jaskier replied, watching his beauty go up in smoke.

* * *

Jaskiers hand snaked out and grabbed a tree, using the motion to pull himself to the side, and something landed right where he would be if he would have stayed straight. It growled slightly, before moving again. Jaskier shuddered and continued running, only this time through the bush and not through an already paved trail. The branches came up and scratched across his face, drawing blood, and Jaskier swore. Animals were attracted to blood; he knew Geralt was the same way.

Fuck. 

He brushed the crimson drops away, begging the blood not to hit the dirt. If he could get some mud over the cuts, he could hide his scent slightly, making it a bit harder to find him. It probably wouldn’t do much, but Jaskier was willing to do anything at this point. 

It was silent now, and Jaskiers heart was so loud, he thought that maybe the angels in heaven could hear. He jumped behind a bush and fell to his knees, trying to take a break. His fingers scrambled against the dirt, smearing it across his cheeks with trembling his fingers. His lips ached. He could hear Geralt anymore, but he knew the man was out there, just waiting. 

He wondered how long Geralt would allow the game to go on, how amusing Jaskier was to him. He wondered if this would take hours, or even days, or if it would be over in minutes. Maybe Geralt would wait until morning, when it was easier to see Jaskier through the trees, waiting until Jaskier felt safe enough to relax before pouncing, or if he would just end it now, Jaskier kneeling in the dirt, catching his breath. 

That thought propelled Jaskier to move, and he climbed up on shaking limbs to start again. He could breathe better now, and he hoped it was enough. His legs were numb and he could barely feel them as he started running. He hoped they wouldn’t give out on him. 

Behind him something howled, and Jaskier didn’t know if it was man or beast. He didn’t even want to. 

* * *

Jaskier tugged Geralt through the market, marvelling at how easily Geralt followed him. His fingers were laced through Geralts, Geralt's hand limp in his, almost like Jaskier was holding hands with a corpse. Jaskier shivered at the thought of Geralt being dead, praying it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. 

He bought them both desserts from a small stand at the corner, and his treat was so delicious, he licked his fingers clean. He knew it was slightly erotic; he could feel the gaze of market goers, some filled with judgement, some filled with lust. He secretly hoped Geralt had seen. Geralt was the only one he cared about, the only one he wanted watching him. But when he looked, Geralt was focused on his own treat. 

It was a warm day, and the market was bustling with people, women in brightly coloured skirts and men without shirts, arms filled with wood. Jaskier was overwhelmed with sights and smells, and knew if he was struggling, Geralt was even worse with his mutations. He felt slightly bad for taking Geralt with him and Jaskier let go of his companions hand, mourning its warmth. 

“Geralt, I’m going to get some new clothes, okay?” Jaskier said, hoping Geralt would take the chance to leave and go back to their inn. He hoped Geralt knew that he didn’t have to be there with him as an obligation, and that Geralt was okay. Jaskier knew he could be pushy sometimes, but he was working on it. He was trying to grow from the bossy nineteen year old him who demanded Geralt to take him along. 

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier walked away, heading to his favourite tailor. The man's name was Jeremy and his hands on sewing needles was magic. Jaskier sometimes thought the man wasn’t human, but Jeremy swore up and down his parents were normal. Jaskier didn’t know how a mere human could create products so beautiful. 

“I’m flattered you think that way,” Jeremy said, picking out some fabric for Jaskier, pushing through his bins. All Jaskier had said was “wow me”, and Jeremy obliged. The man was expensive, but worth it.

Jaskier was in the shop, a small wooden place next to a bar. It was brightly lit, covered in many windows displaying the fabric. Many cuts and clothes were hung up, and Jaskier looked around with awe. 

“Are you kidding me? You’re perfect,” Jaskier said, leaning over a book full of prints. They displayed what exactly customers could buy, and Jaskier considered getting a dress. He and Geralt were heading to Yennefer's party in a month, and he had to outshine her this time. Last party he tried to, but she had come prepared as well, and Jaskier didn’t want to be upstaged again. 

Honestly, Yennefer was a real bitch sometimes. She was fucking beautiful though, and if she wasn’t with Geralt and Jaskier wasn’t lusting after Geralt as well, he would definitely be in love with her. 

“You’re too kind sir,” Jeremy said, holding up some fabric. He finally decided on a colour combination and Jaskier was excited to see. “What about these colours? Gold and dark green.” 

Jaskier looked at them for a few minutes, trying to picture himself in them. He could see himself sitting on a throne made of bark, a large wolf at his feet that may or may not have white fur and golden eyes. 

“You are a genius,” he said slowly, and Jeremy waved him off, gathering the fabric together, already knowing what cut of fabric Jaskier would want. 

“You’re a wonderful muse to have,” he said, and Jaskier blushed red. “I’ve never had a customer as loyal as you.” 

“And you’ll never lose me Jeremy,” Jaskier said, placing some money in the man's hand. The gold coins shone in the sun leaking through the window. “If I stop coming here every month, just assume I’m dead or kidnapped.” 

“I’ll make sure to warn the authorities if that ever happens,” Jeremy joked, and Jaskier laughed, waving goodbye. He would come back in a few hours to his new clothes. He hoped it would be enough to impress Geralt. 

* * *

Jaskier couldn’t hear a thing behind him, and he prayed Geralt had dropped dead. Or maybe he met something in the woods, something more monstrous than him and stopped to fight, letting Jaskier run away. 

Jaskier never thought he would think of Geralt as monstrous. Everyone around them did; villagers, lords, kings, they all looked at Geralt and saw nothing but an animal. Jaskier had tried so hard to be different from them, to show Geralt he was better. He supposed there was a first time for everything in the end. 

A large branch scraped against his side, tearing a piece off his white undershirt, and Jaskier yelped. He had already let his doublet behind, knowing it was too bright, and he sent a small apology to Jeremy. He hated ruining the mans beautiful craftsmanship, but he knew the tailor would understand why. 

Through the tears, Jaskier could hear someone laugh, and he started running again, knowing the cloth left on the branch would be a huge indicator of where he was. He turned left, hoping to throw off Geralt, but knew it was hopeless. The man was a hunter; he always knew what would happen next. 

This wasn’t just a game, Jaskier realised. This was foreplay. 

* * *

“Geralt,” he cried, catching sight of the man walking through the door. He stood up, running over, ready to greet his friend after so many months. He threw his arms around the witcher, feeling more confident and slightly drunk on infatuation. Remarkably, Geralt didn’t push him away. “I’ve missed you my dear.” 

“Jaskier,” was all Geralt said in return and it was all Jaskier needed. His name sounded so lovely in Geralt's harsh tone, his accent blending. Jaskier could feel himself melt and his heart skip a beat. 

Fuck, he was in deep. Not that he minded. 

“Let’s stay here for the night,” Jaskier said, tugging him towards a table. “To celebrate your glorious return!” 

He could see Geralt roll his eyes, but Jaskier ignored it, too happy to have his friend back. He ordered two ales for them, too excited to see Geralt again. They had been apart for the winter, and Jaskier missed him just as much as he missed sunny days. 

He entertained Geralt with his tales of the rich fools he played for in courts over the winter, the beautiful men and women he seduced into his bed, maybe to get him jealous, and Geralt listened. Jaskier drank like the world was ending and he allowed himself to be pulled into the fray of people at the tavern, playing his music at their hollers. He knew his fingers would be bandaged tomorrow and he would whine, much to Geralt's chagrin, but he didn’t care. The night was his, Geralt was by his side again, and Jaskier was in love. 

He danced on tables, played his music, and allowed himself to be whisked away to foreign lands where nothing mattered. A mug would be pressed into his hands, then he would drink and it would be pulled away, replaced. The cycle would begin again, and Jaskier got drunk on honey. The air was thick and heady, filled with sweat and screams and warmth. 

Across the room Geralt watched, tracing Jaskiers movement, his face hidden in shadow. Jaskier could see his eyes follow him, and he was already filled with liquid courage, what was a little more? 

He sauntered over to the man and plopped himself into Geralt's lap, his mind fuzzy. It was a good idea in his frazzled head. He didn’t even think that Geralt might kill him for it. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt grunted, almost like he disapproved, but his hands came around Jaskiers waist, so Jaskier finally relaxed. He had to bend his legs slightly to fit and he remembered how tall he was. Geralt was stronger than him, and sometimes even Jaskier forgot they were almost the same height. 

“What does it look like dear heart?” Jaskier replied, whispering in his ear. Somewhere in the background, people applauded his bravery, shouting their crude encouragement. He hoped that maybe this time Geralt would understand what they meant. 

Geralt said nothing and Jaskier waited. His eyes grew heavy like his heart did when he realised Geralt still didn’t know, but he didn’t have the energy to say anything at all, so he shut his mouth and went to sleep, resting his head on Geralts shoulder, feeling the safest he ever felt. 

* * *

Jaskier waded through a river, legs numbing even more, and he wondered how he even loved that man. What spell had Geralt cast on him, or was it Jaskiers own foolishness that was his downfall? 

He should have listened to his mother, when she combed his hair back and told him to beware the witcher. 

* * *

Jaskier paraded in front of a mirror, looking himself right and left, then up and down. He was critical, trying to find a flaw, and didn’t see anything. That was the price of being perfect, he supposed. 

He wore a white lace cardigan, golden birds embroidered on it, shimmering in the candlelight. The garment brushed the floor, and beneath it was a pair of pastel blue pants and shirt. He looked ethereal, he knew. If the greatest poet in the world looked at him, he would never look away. Songs would be written in his name, the angel he would be called. 

“I like your hair,” Geralt grunted, sitting on the bed. He had been ready for almost an hour, watching impatiently as Jaskier got ready. They were heading to Yennefer's party, and Jaskier hoped he would outshine her this time. Maybe if he did Geralt would leave to go fuck her in the hallway, leaving Jaskier alone. 

“Really?” Jaskier said, turning to him, putting his hands on his hips. Geralt looked confused, like he didn’t know what he said wrong. “Just like? Is that all you can say?” 

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “I guess the ribbon really pulls the outfit together?” he paused for a second. “Is that good enough?” 

“It is,” Jaskier nodded in approval. He turned back to the mirror, and started lacing up his boots, these one with painted lilacs. It wasn’t intended to be a jab at Yennefer at first, but Jaskier hoped maybe she saw it that way. The ribbon in his hair fell down his left side, brushing his neck. It was a light blue colour, almost like bluebells. “And thank you. That was what the ribbon was for.” 

* * *

Please God, begged Jaskier, running through the field of wildflowers. Ahead of him was the forest, this time filled with birch, and he knew escape was almost impossible. He was tiring. The game would be over soon.

Flowers were trampled under his foot and Jaskier hated himself for destroying such beauty, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t give up because there was a small chance he could make it, and he wanted freedom. 

* * *

They were at a contract, Jaskier coming along to write his songs. Toss A Coin was becoming repetitive, and he needed something new soon, otherwise they wouldn’t get as much money as usual. They were already slacking as well; Jaskier didn’t need to add to their burden. 

Geralt's sword came down on the head of one of the drowners, effectively killing it. Jaskier clapped gently, already thinking of metaphors the spray of water could represent. Maybe the arc of the killing, from the deadly dance to the kill? No, not good enough. He needed something better if he was going to get money for it. 

Besides, that sounded like something Valdo would come up with. Ew. 

One tried to pull Geralt under, but Geralt slashed, and the head fell, sending blood and guts everywhere. Jaskier gagged slightly, still hating the smell of iron. He looked down, breathed through his mouth a few times, then looked back up just in time to see Geralt get pulled under the waves. The man resurfaced a few minutes later and then the drowner struck, quick and fast. Geralt had no chance.

Geralt’s chest was cut open and Jaskier screamed. The notebook fell to the ground as the monster's attention snapped towards Jaskier instead, just seconds away from killing Geralt. Jaskier whimpered. Fuck. he usually carried a knife with him, but he forgot it this time and he hated himself for it. 

He looked down and saw a rock. It wasn’t much but he needed all the help he could get, so he picked it up. It was covered in dirt and felt gritty in his hands. He might as well go down swinging. It would make a beautiful ballad one day. Just as long as Valdo didn’t write it, the bastard. 

“You stupid little fucking piss baby,” Jaskier screamed randomly, then stopped. “Oh, that’s a good insult, I should write that down.” 

The drowner started running towards him, and Jaskier felt a flash of fear fill him. He started running, hoping to draw it away from Geralt, giving Geralt just enough time to get up. The drowner jumped, ready to finish the kill, and Jaskier held up his arms, ready to die. A sword went through its body and the guts spilled onto Jaskier, and Jaksier opened his eyes again. 

“Yes Geralt,” he cheered, ignoring the fact that his new doublet was ruined. Geralt stood over the beasts body, looking pissed as fuck, and Jaskier loved him. 

“What the fuck Jaskier?” he growled, and Jaskier crossed his arms. The man sounded ungrateful, like Jaskier hadn’t just saved his ass. Well, that was Geralt for you. He should be used to his gruff behaviour by now. 

“I saved your life Geralt, show some gratitude,” Jaskier said, then wiped his face, smearing the blood. “Ew, this is disgusting. We’re both going to need baths after this. C’mon grab their heads and we’ll go back to the inn. I need to take a look at that cut of yours.” He turned around, and began walking back, knowing that what he said was final. 

* * *

Jaskier ran through the trees once more. The moon was up in the sky, at its highest point, and Jaskier wanted to cry. The night was only half over. He still had so much more to survive. He didn’t want to continue. He hated this chase. He hated Geralt. 

He tried to run faster and found that he couldn’t. All his energy was gone. He could feel himself start to slow down, and begged his body not to give up. A shadow fell beside him and Jaskier looked to the side, ready to cry. It looked like his time was almost up.

A fallen branch lay hidden in the darkness and Jaskiers ankle found it. Jaskier felt the obstacle and had a single second to curse out every God he knew of before he was falling. He hit the ground harshly, palms first, bloods bubbling up through tiny scraps. He rolled slightly, shutting his eyes, then stopped as his back hit a tree. He looked up into the sky, and the moon shone down, looking so bright through his tears. 

This was the end. Fuck him. 

* * *

“Jaskier, I thought I told you to stay behind,” Geralt said, sitting on the bed, his words trembling with anger. His swords were on his lap, being cleaned from the blood and guts. He made slow, methodical movements, and the blade gleamed. Jaskier watched him. Geralt was kind of hot when he was pissed, Jaskier thought. 

“That you did, my dear,” Jaskier replied, smiling wide, “And I didn’t listen. And look out it turned out! The courageous bard defends defenceless witcher. I can already hear the hit song I can write.” Jaskier sighed, grateful Valdo wasn’t the one doing it. He would butcher the ballad, just like he did everything he wrote. 

“Dammit Jaskier, you act like you’re invincible,” Geralt snarled, and Jaskiers head snapped towards him. Jaskier frowned; he didn’t think Geralt would get this upset. “You’re only human, you should have just let me protect you.” 

Oh, and that was the last straw. Jaskier hated thinking he needed to rely on someone to protect him. Yes, he was a little bit feminine, he could admit that. But that didn’t make him weak. In fact, being feminine didn’t make anyone weak. Just look at Yennefer, she could kick anyone's ass. “I don’t need you to protect me all the time y’know,” he said. “I can defend myself, I did it for eighteen years before I met you.” 

“You were going to use a rock to kill a monster.” 

Jaskier scoffed. Geralt had a point, but he didn't say that. Never show weakness or you wouldn’t win. “So that wasn’t my best idea, whatever. You need to stop acting like you’re so invincible either, because you’re not. I helped you today, I saved your life.” 

“That’s my job,” Geralt said, and Jaskier laughed. He couldn’t help it; that was one of the stupidest things he ever heard in his life. Geralt's job was to kill monsters, not babysit a full grown man, especially not one who could take care of himself, thank you very much. 

“It shouldn’t be Geralt, you deserve to be loved and cared for too. Let me, please,” Jaskier begged, wishing Geralt would just let him in for once. He wanted Geralt to be happy, to be safe. Jaskier could protect Geralt; of this he was certain. 

Geralt had it backwards. Jaskier wanted to protect Geralt. Geralt needed it. Jaskier didn’t. 

“Please Geralt, let me fight for you,” he pleaded, hoping that just this time Geralt would listen to him. Jaskier hoped Geralt would finally understand. 

“Get out,” Geralt said, and Jaskiers hopes were crushed. He sent one more pleading look towards Geralt, but Geralt wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at his swords, like they held the answers. Jaskier knew Geralt used his swords to protect himself, but he should be allowed to set them down every once a while. Geralt deserved it. 

Jaskier left the room, both his footsteps and heart heavy. He didn’t think he had the strength to play tonight, but they were low on coin so he would. He would play his heart out so Geralt could have enough money to buy nice things. Jaskier could do this one, small things for him. It was such a tiny gesture, and Jaskier prayed it would be enough. 

Later, Geralt came down and tugged Jaskier upstairs. Jaskier followed, hoping maybe he finally got through to Geralt, that maybe it was now Jaskiers turn to save him. 

But Geralt held up a blue ribbon, the fabric shimmering in the candlelight, and Jaskier couldn’t deny his golden eyes. 

* * *

The moon disappeared behind a large shadow, Jaskiers lovely stars missing from his vision. Jaskier remembered when the stars were his muse, when they were the most beautiful thing in his life. He missed those days because even though he hated Geralt, he was still beautiful to Jaskier. Even peering down at him, such lovely concern in his golden eyes, like he actually cared about Jaskier despite what he did, he was beautiful. 

Geralt had gone to sleep that night, and Jaskier had stolen Geralt's scissors from his pouch and cut the ribbon off of him. He massaged his aching lips, then ran off, leaving behind his lute. He knew it would just slow him down. And even though the game was over and Jaskier had lost, he was proud of how far he came. He evaded Geralt for hours; that more than anyone could boast. 

“Found you,” Geralt said, reaching down and gently picking up Jaskier, bridal style. It was stupidly romantic; Jaskier wanted Geralt's hands off him. "Did you think you could run?" 

No, Jaskier didn't. But he needed to try. Giving up wasn't an option for him and he was desperate to be free. Free from the spell the witcher cast on him. Free from the mistakes of the stupid, infatuated, foolish nineteen year old boy who decided to follow Geralt to the ends of the earth. 

“Come on,” Geralt said, turning around and heading back. He was very obviously trying not to tousle Jaskier, and Jaskier was amazed how someone so violent could be so loving. “Let’s go make our home.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this shit.


End file.
